SOME OF THE "SIGHTS" OF LONDON.
In the course of time we came to anchor in the stream; skiffs from the
shore pulled alongside, and after some little quarrelling, we were
safely deposited in one, with a party who desired to be landed at the
Tower Stairs. The dark walls frowned above us as we mounted from the
water and passed into an open square on the outside of the moat. The
laborers were about commencing work, the fashionable _day_ having just
closed, but there was still noise and bustle enough in the streets,
particularly when we reached Whitechapel, part of the great
thoroughfare, extending through the heart of London to Westminster Abbey
and the Parliament buildings. Further on, through Leadenhall street and
Fleet street--what a world! Here come the ever-thronging, ever-rolling
waves of life, pressing and whirling on in their tumultuous career. Here
day and night pours the stream of human beings, seeming amid the roar
and din and clatter of the passing vehicles, like the tide of some great
combat. How lonely it makes one to stand still and feel that of all the
mighty throng which divides itself around him, not a being knows or
cares for him! What knows he too of the thousands who pass him by? How
many who bear the impress of godlike virtue, or hide beneath a goodly
countenance a heart black with crime? How many fiery spirits, all
glowing with hope for the yet unclouded future, or brooding over a
darkened and desolate past in the agony of despair? There is a sublimity
in this human Niagara that makes one look on his own race with something
of awe.
We walked down the Thames, through the narrow streets of Wapping, Over
the mouth of the Tunnel is a large circular building, with a dome to
light the entrance below. Paying the fee of a penny, we descended by a
winding staircase to the bottom, which is seventy-three feet below the
surface. The carriage-way, still unfinished, will extend further into
the city. From the bottom the view of the two arches of the Tunnel,
brilliantly lighted with gas, is very fine; it has a much less heavy and
gloomy appearance than I expected. As we walked along under the bed of
the river, two or three girls at one end began playing on the French
horn and bugle, and the echoes, when not too deep to confuse the melody,
were remarkably beautiful. Between the arches of the division separating
the two passages, are shops, occupied by venders of fancy articles,
views of the Tunnel, engravings, &c. In the middle is a small printing
press, where, a sheet containing a description of the whole work is
printed for those who desire it. As I was no stranger to this art, I
requested the boy to let me print one myself, but he had such a bad
roller I did not succeed in getting a good impression. The air within is
somewhat damp, but fresh and agreeably cool, and one can scarcely
realize in walking along the light passage, that a river is rolling
above his head. The immense solidity and compactness of the structure
precludes the danger of accident, each of the sides being arched
outwards, so that the heaviest pressure only strengthens the whole. It
will long remain a noble monument of human daring and ingenuity.
St. Paul's is on a scale of grandeur excelling every thing I have yet
seen. The dome seems to stand in the sky, as you look up to it; the
distance from which you view it, combined with the atmosphere of London,
give it a dim, shadowy appearance, that perfectly startles one with its
immensity. The roof from which the dome springs is itself as high as the
spires of most other churches--blackened for two hundred years with the
coal-smoke of London, it stands like a relic of the giant architecture
of the early world. The interior is what one would expect to behold,
after viewing the outside. A maze of grand arches on every side,
encompasses the dome, which you gaze up at, as at the sky; and from
every pillar and wall look down the marble forms of the dead. There is
scarcely a vacant niche left in all this mighty hall, so many are the
statues that meet one on every side. With the exceptions of John Howard,
Sir Astley Cooper and Wren, whose monument is the church itself, they
are all to military men. I thought if they had all been removed except
Howard's, it would better have suited such a temple, and the great soul
it commemorated.
I never was more impressed with the grandeur of human invention, than
when ascending the dome. I could with difficulty conceive the means by
which such a mighty edifice had been lifted into the air. That small
frame of Sir Christopher Wren must have contained a mind capable of vast
conceptions. The dome is like the summit of a mountain; so wide is the
prospect, and so great the pile upon which you stand. London lay beneath
us, like an ant-hill, with the black insects swarming to and fro in
their long avenues, the sound of their employments coming up like the
roar of the sea. A cloud of coal-smoke hung over it, through which many
a pointed spire was thrust up; sometimes the wind would blow it aside
for a moment, and the thousands of red roofs would shine out clearer.
The bridged Thames, covered with craft of all sizes, wound beneath us
like a ringed and spotted serpent. The scene was like an immense
circular picture in the blue frame of the hills around.
Continuing our way up Fleet street, which, notwithstanding the gaiety of
its shops and its constant bustle, has an antique appearance, we came to
the Temple Bar, the western boundary of the ancient city. In the inside
of the middle arch, the old gates are still standing. From this point we
entered the new portion of the city, which wore an air of increasing
splendor as we advanced. The appearance of the Strand and Trafalgar
Square is truly magnificent. Fancy every house in Broadway a store, all
built of light granite, the Park stripped of all its trees and paved
with granite, and a lofty column in the centre, double the crowd and the
tumult of business, and you will have some idea of the view.
It was a relief to get into St. James's Park, among the trees and
flowers again. Here, beautiful winding walks led around little lakes, in
which were hundreds of water-fowl, swimming. Groups of merry children
were sporting on the green lawn, enjoying their privilege of roaming
every where at will, while the older bipeds were confined to the regular
walks. At the western end stood Buckingham Palace, looking over the
trees towards St. Paul's; through the grove on the eminence above, the
towers of St. James's could be seen. But there was a dim building, with
two lofty square towers, decorated with a profusion of pointed Gothic
pinnacles, that I looked at with more interest than these appendages of
royalty. I could not linger long in its vicinity, but going back again
by the Horse Guards, took the road to _Westminster Abbey_.
We approached by the general entrance, Poet's Corner. I hardly stopped
to look at the elaborate exterior of Henry VIIth's Chapel, but passed on
to the door. On entering, the first thing that met my eyes were the
words, "OH RARE BEN JONSON," under his bust. Near by stood the monuments
of Spenser and Gay, and a few paces further looked down the sublime
countenance of Milton. Never was a spot so full of intense interest. The
light was just dim enough to give it a solemn, religious appearance,
making the marble forms of poets and philosophers so shadowy and
impressive, that I felt as if standing in their living presence. Every
step called up some mind linked with the associations of my childhood.
There was the gentle feminine countenance of Thompson, and the majestic
head of Dryden; Addison with his classic features, and Gray, full of the
fire of lofty thought. In another chamber, I paused long before the
ashes of Shakspeare; and while looking at the monument of Garrick,
started to find that I stood upon his grave. What a glorious galaxy of
genius is here collected--what a constellation of stars whose light is
immortal! The mind is completely fettered by their spirit. Everything is
forgotten but the mighty dead, who still "rule us from their urns."
The Chapel of Henry VII., which we next entered, is one of the most
elaborate specimens of Gothic workmanship in the world. If the first
idea of the Gothic arch sprung from observing the forms of trees, this
chapel must resemble the first conceptions of that order, for the fluted
columns rise up like tall trees, branching out at the top into spreading
capitals covered with leaves, and supporting arches of the ceiling
resembling a leafy roof.
The side-chapels are filled with tombs of knightly families, the husband
and wife lying on their backs on the tombs, with their hands clasped,
while their children, about the size of dolls, are kneeling around.
Numberless are the Barons and Earls and Dukes, whose grim effigies stare
from their tombs. In opposite chapels are the tombs of Mary and
Elizabeth, and near the former that of Darnley. After having visited
many of the scenes of her life, it was with no ordinary emotion that I
stood by the sepulchre of Mary. How differently one looks upon it and
upon that of the proud Elizabeth!
We descended to the Chapel of Edward the Confessor, within the splendid
shrine of which repose his ashes. Here we were shown the chair on which
the English monarchs have been crowned for several hundred years, Under
the seat is the stone, brought from the Abbey of Scone, whereon the
Kings of Scotland were crowned. The chair is of oak, carved and hacked
over with names, and on the bottom some one has recorded his name with
the fact that, he once slept in it. We sat down and rested in it without
ceremony. Passing along an aisle leading to the grand hall, we saw the
tomb of Aymer de Valence, a knight of the Crusades. Near here is the
hall where the Knights of the order of Bath met. Over each seat their
dusty banners are still hanging, each with its crest, and their armor is
rusting upon the wall. It seemed like a banqueting hall of the olden
time, where the knights had left their seats for a moment vacant.
Entering the nave, we were lost in the wilderness of sculpture. Here
stood the forms of Pitt, Fox, Burke, Sheridan and Watts, from the
chisels of Chantry, Bacon and Westmacott. Further down were Sir Isaac
Newton and Sir Godfrey Kneller--opposite Andre, and Paoli, the Italian,
who died here in exile. How can I convey an idea of the scene?
Notwithstanding all the descriptions I had read, I was totally
unprepared for the reality, nor could I have anticipated the hushed and
breathless interest with which I paced the dim aisles, gazing, at every
step, on the last resting place of some great and familiar name. A place
so sacred to all who inherit the English tongue, is worthy of a special
pilgrimage across the deep. To those who are unable to visit it, a
description may be interesting; but so far does it fall short of the
scene itself, that if I thought it would induce a few of our wealthy
idlers, or even those who, like myself, must travel with toil and
privation to come hither, I would write till the pen dropped from my
hand.
More than twenty grand halls of the British Museum are devoted to
antiquities, and include the Elgin Marbles--the spoils of the
Parthenon--the Fellows Marbles, brought from the ancient city of
Xanthus, and Sir William Hamilton's collection of Italian antiquities.
It was painful to see the friezes of the Parthenon, broken and defaced
as they are, in such a place. Rather let them moulder to dust on the
ruin from which they were torn, shining through the blue veil of the
Grecian atmosphere, from the summit of the Acropolis!
The National Gallery, on Trafalgar Square, is open four days in the
week, to the public. The "Raising of Lazarus," by Sebastian del Piombo,
is considered the gem of the collection, but my unschooled eyes could
not view it as such. It is also remarkable for having been transferred
from wood to canvass, without injury. This delicate operation was
accomplished by gluing the panel on which it was painted, flat on a
smooth table, and planing the wood gradually away till the coat of
hardened paint alone remained. A proper canvass was then prepared,
covered with a strong cement, and laid on the back of the picture, which
adhered firmly to it. The owner's nerves must have had a severe trial,
if he had courage to watch the operation. I was enraptured with
Murillo's pictures of St. John and the Holy Family. St. John is
represented as a boy in the woods, fondling a lamb. It is a glorious
head. The dark curls cluster around his fair brow, and his eyes seem
already glowing with the fire of future inspiration. There is an
innocence, a childish sweetness of expression in the countenance, which
makes one love to gaze upon it. Both of these paintings wore constantly
surrounded by ladies, and they certainly deserved the preference. In the
rooms devoted to English artists, there are many of the finest works of
West, Reynolds, Hogarth and Wilkie.
We spent a day in visiting the _lungs of London_, as the two grand parks
have been called. From the Strand through the Regent Circus, the centre
of the fashionable part of the city, we passed to Piccadilly, culling on
our way to see our old friends, the Iowas. They were at the Egyptian
Hall, in connexion with Catlin's Indian collection. The old braves knew
us at once, particularly Blister Feet, who used often to walk a linweon
deck with me, at sea. Further along Piccadilly is Wellington's mansion
of Apsley House, and nearly opposite it, in the corner of Hyde Park,
stands the colossal statue of Achilles, cast from cannon taken at
Salamanca and Vittoria. The Park resembles an open common, with here and
there a grove of trees, intersected by carriage roads, it is like
getting into the country again to be out on its broad, green field, with
the city seen dimly around through the smoky atmosphere. We walked for a
mile or two along the shady avenues and over the lawns, having a view of
the princely terraces and gardens on one hand, and the gentle outline of
Primrose Hill on the other. Regent's Park itself covers a space of
nearly four hundred acres!
But if London is unsurpassed in splendor, it has also its corresponding
share of crime. Notwithstanding the large and efficient body of police,
who do much towards the control of vice, one sees enough of degradation
and brutality in a short time, to make his heart sick. Even the public
thorough fares are thronged at night with characters of the lowest
description, and it is not expedient to go through many of the narrow
bye-haunts of the old city in the day-time. The police, who are ever on
the watch, immediately seize and carry off any offender, but from the
statements of persons who have had an opportunity of observing, as well
as from my own slight experience, I am convinced that there is an untold
amount of misery and crime. London is one of the wonders of the world,
but there is reason to believe it is one of the curses of the world
also; though, in fact, nothing but an active and unceasing philanthropy
can prevent any city from becoming so.
_Aug. 22._--I have now been six days in London, and by making good use
of my feet and eyes, have managed to become familiar with almost every
object of interest within its precincts. Having a plan mapped out for
the day, I started from my humble lodgings at the Aldgate Coffee House,
where I slept off fatigue for a shilling a night, and walked up
Cheapside or down Whitechapel, as the case might be, hunting out my way
to churches, halls and theatres. In this way, at a trifling expense, I
have perhaps seen as much as many who spend here double the time and
ten times the money. Our whole tour from Liverpool hither, by way of
Ireland and Scotland, cost us but twenty-five dollars each! although,
except in one or two cases, we denied ourselves no necessary comfort.
This shows that the glorious privilege of looking on the scenes of the
old world need not be confined to people of wealth and leisure. It may
be enjoyed by all who can occasionally forego a little bodily comfort
for the sake of mental and spiritual gain. We leave this afternoon for
Dover. Tomorrow I shall dine in Belgium!